Chapter Text
Down in Zandik's lab, segment 35, accompanied by 45, are running experiments. In front of them, a large cylindrical object encapsulates a young woman. A blue, thick liquid keeps her sedated and alive as her vitals are monitored on screens just to the right. She is not conscious in the slightest at this point, too far gone to have any sense of awareness. 45 does not speak as 35 adjusts the pressure within the capsule. The vitals change as the independent variable is changed. Then they settle, already adjusted to the change. 45 writes down the change and adaptation down under Subject 4. 35 then speaks up, "We shall stop here for today. I've heard we've gotten a new subject, so let's go spy." He says, awfully cheery. 45 just nods and follows 35 to where Zandik is currently handling the case.
They slip into the observation room to secretly watch. Inside the sterile room, a young man sits on the covered chair, his upper left arm covered in blood-soaked bandages. In his mouth he has a cigarette, acting like he hadn't just been shot. Zandik soon enters the room, asking some basic questions to the young man while washing his hands in the nearby sink. The black-haired man answers with short answers, puffing out smoke with every other sentence. From the observation room, 45 takes notes, adding his own personal note that reads, "smoking is a bad habit that pollutes the lungs". 35 just watches on while mumbling to himself. Zandik pulls on his gloves before walking over to the young man.
"You said your name was... Feofan, correct?" Zandik asks while peeling away the bandages on the others' arm.
"Yes, that is correct." Feofan confirms, blowing the smoke from his cigarette away from the doctor. He doesn't even flinch as Zandik rubs an alcohol wipe on either side of the through-and-through gunshot wound. "Though, I never got your name, mister doctor." Feofan says with a smirk.
Zandik glances up, then back to the wound. He finishes cleaning around it before speaking.
"My name? Just call me Dottore." Zandik answers. There was no reason to give his actual name. And if Feofan happened to run into any of his segments, they'd give the same name. It'd avoid any confusion and also prevent this ordinary man from unnecessarily finding out his secrets.
"What a fitting name." Feofan comments, puffing out another cloud of smoke.
Zandik just nods before grabbing a syringe, "I will be numbing the area." He says, pouring a light blue liquid into the syringe and putting on the back. He then turns it upright and flicks it carefully twice to remove any air bubbles.
Feofan observes the funky color inside the syringe, his curiosity silently emerging. He says nothing and watches as 'Dottore' injects the liquid into his arm. When it's done, he pulls it out and throws away the syringe into a trash bin and grabs his clipboard.
Zandik writes down the dosage under Subject 3, then waits for any side affects. Three minutes pass, nothing yet. Then ten. He asks if Feofan feels weird, and the answer he receives is just, "a bit tired". Zandik slowly nods and just writes down "fatigue". Then observes for a few more minutes before writing down one last thing. He sets his clipboard aside before walking back over to Feofan.
"Everything seems good. I'll re-wrap your arm, then come back in one weeks time for a check up." Zandik states, grabbing a roll of bandaging and wrapping Feofan arm.
"Sure thing, Dottore." Feofan says, putting out his cigarette by rubbing it on the seat below him. 'Dottore's' eyes narrow just a bit but he says nothing. Feofan drops the cigarette into the trashcan sitting next to the seat.
Once Feofan's arm has been wrapped up, he stands up and is led out by Zandik. 35 and 45 go into the room to tidy it up.
The week passes quickly, and Feofan is back in the check-up room, sitting on the same plush chair. It does not bear the cigarette burn from last time. He leans back and waits for 'Dottore's' arrival.
A few minutes later, Zandik enters the room. He washes his hands before putting on gloves, then walks over to Feofan.
"Have you had any complications over the week?" Zandik asks, starting to remove the bandages around Feofan's arm.
"Just some minor fatigue here and there. But other than that, no challenges have risen." Feofan answers, pulling out a cigarette with his free hand and putting it between his lips as he pulls out his lighter from the same pocket. He lights the cigarette and places the lighter back into his pocket.
Zandik pays no mind to Feofan's smoking, focusing on cleaning the healing wound. It's been mildly taken care of, but there could certainly be additional steps and actions done to help it heal faster and better. He also checks the surrounding skin. Finding nothing to indicate this experiment has failed, he wraps Feofan's arm with new bandages and goes over to one of the drawers lining the counter. He pulls out a small prescription container with light blue capsules before turning back to Feofan. "I will prescribe you these to help with the healing process, just one or two a day everyday will suffice. Then come back when you run out." Zandik says, writing out a note before handing both to Feofan.
Feofan puts out his cigarette in the same spot as last time before dropping it into the trashcan beside the seat, then takes both the bottle and note as he stands up.
"Thanks, Dottore." He says before being led out.
The oak door to a fine residence opens, then shuts behind a young man. The hall leading in is dark until he flips on the light. The corridor fills with a dim, yellow glow, covering every surface in sight. The young man hangs up his black jacket next to his other, near identical, jackets, and one heavy coat at the end. He walks further into his house, lights turning on as he goes. Then he enters the kitchen and takes out a prescription bottle and the note filled with instructions, "1-2 pills a day everyday until empty, then come back for refill. If any strange symptoms arise, contact immediately." It reads simply. On the bottle, the words "Tabletky na testovanie nesmrteľnosti" are written on a sticker. He's unsure what any of these words could mean, but that doctor seemed trustworthy enough. Right? He sets the note and bottle down, grabbing a glass cup from his cupboard and filling it with water. He takes one pill from the bottle and swallows it down with the water.
Later that night, he gets ready for bed. All the lights have been turned off, locks were locked, and security has been checked. The young man slides into his big, cold bed, pulling the sheets over his body, and drifts into an uneasy rest.